


Breaking Routine

by andabatae



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Meet Cute But Angry, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25622146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andabatae/pseuds/andabatae
Summary: Ben is a creature of habit. After years of feeling out of control, he finds safety in order. Routine. The comfort of the familiar.And then a beautiful, loud girl bursts into his life.It's horrible....maybe.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 20
Kudos: 138
Collections: A Picture is worth 1000 Words - PL Summer Exchange





	Breaking Routine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ekayla](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ekayla/gifts).



Ben was a creature of habit.

He hadn’t always been. From the ages of roughly 16 to 30, he’d been a volatile powderkeg of a human being, prone to fits of rage and irrational choices. He’d driven away almost everyone in his life before his primary care physician, noticing Ben’s fidgety, anxious state and the bags under his eyes, had gently advised an antidepressant for daily use and a low dose of Xanax for panic attacks.

The change hadn’t been instantaneous, and the first antidepressant hadn’t been the one to stick, but the second one had been a revelation. After years of struggling with his own thoughts, Ben had finally experienced what it was like not to feel like he was in crisis mode all the time.

After the antidepressants had come therapy. Now, two years later, Ben finally had a toolkit to deal with his emotions and wayward thoughts. One thing that helped immensely was order. A routine. The comfort of the familiar.

Thus, at 10am every Saturday, he went to his favorite coffeeshop and read for two or three hours. Maz’s was a local joint in every sense of the word--a quiet oasis in the middle of bustling Boston that looked like nothing special on the outside but held countless treasures inside. The cracked leather couches and scuffed tables gave the place a shabby feel, but the baristas took pride in their incredible latte art. Maz’s even had an in-shop library and a “take a book, leave a book” policy that had introduced Ben to unexpected masterpieces.

After his weekly grind at the accounting firm, it was exactly what he needed to feel human again.

The bell tinkled as he entered. The other customers didn’t even look up. It was rare for a stranger to wander in--Maz could probably set her watch by when her regulars arrived.

Ben ordered a flat white. It wasn’t his favorite taste-wise, but he liked seeing the art the baristas made, and once he’d started ordering it, it was hard to stop. When someone genuinely smiled at him and said “the usual?” how was he supposed to deny them?

He sat on an overstuffed chair in the corner, flat white on the stained table and book angled into a beam of sunlight.  _ Far From the Madding Crowd _ wasn’t at all what he’d expected, but he appreciated its slower pace and wry humor.

He was deep in a description of Bathsheba Everdene’s farming aspirations when the door was opened so forcefully it slammed into the wall. The bell jangled in protest, and every person in Maz’s jumped and looked towards the intruder who had disturbed the peace.

The intruder was surprisingly small for how loud she was. Ben took her in: a young woman in an ivory, cable-knit sweater and big sunglasses. Her wavy brown hair brushed her shoulders, and she gestured animatedly as she talked loudly into a cell phone.

“--So I told him, who the hell does he think he is?” she said in a British accent as she stomped towards the counter. “Like, I told you not to hold my hand. Don’t hold my bloody hand!”

Ben’s eyes were drawn to the hand in question. Her fingers glinted with delicate gold rings, and her nails were painted gray, although the ring finger nail was inexplicably a sparkly gold. Ben scoffed and turned back to his book. Some college student, probably, so caught up in her own sense of self-importance that she was oblivious about her effect on the rest of the world.

“Anyway,” the girl said as she approached the counter, “he bitched about me friendzoning him. Like, excuse me, what’s so wrong with being my friend? Ugh.” She frowned as she listened. “Yeah,” she said after a few seconds, nodding. “You’re totally right. It’s just disappointing.”

Maz, the ancient, bug-eyed proprietor, stared at her silently from behind the counter. Seeming to finally cotton on to the fact that she was the focus of every eye in the coffeeshop, Rey cupped a hand around the phone and lowered her voice. “Sorry,” she murmured. “Got to go. Caffeine calls, you know?” A smile flashed across her face. “Thanks, Rose. Love ya, babe.” She hung up, then cleared her throat and stepped up to the counter.

Despite wanting nothing more than for this… irritant… to leave, Ben strained to hear her order. It would undoubtedly be some blended drink that took five minutes to make and had more sugar than the human body could handle.

“Small black coffee, please,” the girl said.

That was unexpected. Ben eyed her again, assessing the combination of oversized sweater, tight gray leggings, and scuffed, slouchy ankle boots. Now that he looked closer, he could see several holes in the sweater. Was the slight aura of disarray meant to be cool? Did the youth even use the word “cool” anymore? He had no idea.

She wasn’t yammering away on the phone anymore, but her presence was still distracting. Ben shifted in his chair, feeling a spike of unease at this shift in his routine. He tried to focus on the book, but his gaze kept flicking back to the girl as she waited for her drink. Her foot tapped, and she toyed with the cuffs of her sweater.

Then she looked directly at him. Ben immediately tore his gaze away.

Staring at pretty, loud girls was not part of his routine. Maybe he’d have indulged in a quick look if he’d passed her on the street, but this was his safe place. His safe,  _ quiet  _ place.

“Rey,” Maz called out, sliding the black coffee over. The mug was orange, chipped at the rim to show the white ceramic beneath. Rey didn’t seem to mind the damage, though. She smiled hugely, chirped a “Thank you!” and grabbed the mug, cradling it to her chest. She inhaled the scent of the coffee, then smiled, eyes falling half-shut.

Ben was definitely doing too much staring. He focused on the book again.

_ The numerous evidences of her power to attract were only thrown into greater relief by a marked exception. Women seem to have eyes in their ribbons for such matters as these. Bathsheba, without looking within a right angle of him, was conscious of a black sheep within the flock. _

_ It perplexed her first. If there had been a respectable minority on either side, the case would have been most natural. If nobody had regarded her, she would have taken the matter indifferently - such cases had occurred. If everybody, this man included, she would have taken it as a matter of course - people had done so before. But the smallness of the exception made the mystery. _

“Hello!”

Ben jumped at the sweet, British-inflected greeting, dropping his book in his lap. How had the mystery girl--Rey--gotten so close?

She was grinning at him like she actually liked seeing him, which was a novel experience Ben didn’t trust one bit. “Is this seat taken?” she asked, gesturing towards the chair opposite him.

If she sat there, they would have to share a table. His space would be limited, and besides, she might be noisy. Ben’s heart thrummed as a mix of anxiety and intrigue wreaked havoc on his insides. “No,” he said. "I mean yes." He winced at his own awkwardness. "You can't sit here," he said bluntly.

Rey looked taken aback. “Seriously?”

“There are other tables,” he said, gesturing towards the few unclaimed tables dotting the space.

“But this one is next to the window and the bookshelf,” she said. “And honestly, mate, I was asking out of courtesy. The chair is free, there’s tons of room on the table, and you don’t have to talk to me at all.”

“Yeah, but  _ you’ll  _ probably talk,” Ben grumbled.

Her eyes widened, and Ben had a quintessentially male  _ ohshit  _ realization. He had said something upsetting, and now Rey looked like she wanted to rip his innards out.

“What makes you think I’ll talk?” she asked. The words were precise and carefully articulated, which made Ben’s danger alarms scream louder.

“Um…” He stared at her, wondering how such a slender, non-threatening figure could intimidate him this much. “You did barge into the coffeeshop practically screaming into your phone--”

“I wasn’t screaming!”

“And you’ve never been here before, so maybe you don’t know how it works--”

“Don’t know how a coffeeshop works?” She scoffed. “Sure, you patronizing dickbag, this is my first time drinking coffee.”

“No, it’s just--”

“Just what?” She set the mug down on the table so hard, he feared for the ceramic’s structural integrity.

“This is my coffeeshop,” he blurted, which didn’t make any sense, but it was too late, he’d said it.

She tipped her head back and laughed. When her head leveled, she looked  _ pissed _ . “Well, Mister Prince of the Coffeeshop,” she said, “I guess I should probably remove my inadequate self from your presence.”

_ Yes, please,  _ his anxious inner self screamed. Not because he thought she was inadequate, but because he’d messed this up so badly. His heart was racing, his palms were sweating, and he’d already dug himself a hole so deep he’d probably never get out of it--

“And yet,” Rey said, smiling at him with poisonous sweetness, “I won’t.”

Then she plunked herself down in the chair opposite him, kicked her feet up on the table--nearly knocking both coffees over--and crossed her arms.

_ Well, shit. _


End file.
